


The Hermit of Rashoumon's Recollection

by godmedallion



Category: Touhou Project
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22434850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godmedallion/pseuds/godmedallion
Summary: A hermit recalls everything, from the day they were born.(Spoilers for Wild and Horned Hermit!)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	The Hermit of Rashoumon's Recollection

An Oni is honest.

Not just to others. Although an Oni may sometimes lie, may often joke, as a rule, an Oni is honest to their own true nature, and to the true nature of others.

An Oni despises liars. Those who manipulate others through tricks.

That much is still true.

\--But is that the same if you are lying to yourself?

If so, then I am not an Oni.

If so, then what am I instead?

* * *

My first clear memory is of a mountain. Not this one -- a mountain far from here. I remember pain, and fear, and sadness, and a feeling of great loss. I remember not remembering what I had lost.

I remember a woman with golden hair finding me, lying half-dead upon that mountainside, staring up at the empty blue sky.

“Is this how the proud Ibaraki Douji intends to perish?”

Was that my name? Am I Ibaraki Douji?

“Tell me, Ibaraki. Do you want to live?”

Do I want to live?

“Or would you like to perish with the others?”

The others…

I remember heat. I remember fear. I remember pain.

I gasped out the words. I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I’d spoken.

Days? Months? Years, perhaps? All I could remember was the ever-changing sky, and the mountain.

“Live…”

* * *

Recently -- and after a lot of trouble, not just for myself -- I finally recovered my arm.

For a long time I wondered why I still wanted it. Possessing it would surely only lead to trouble. I wanted it sealed, yes. I wanted it within my sight… probably?

It is a reminder of my past.

A reminder of my failures.

A reminder that I am incomplete.

So why do I want it?

* * *

I was nursed back to health by the Hidden God, Matara Okina. I would often hear her discussing things with other people in languages I did not recognise, but for a very long time I never saw anyone else.

Then, one day, a stranger sat down next to me.

“You’re Ibaraki-Douji?” she asked. She seemed to be looking at something on my head. Without waiting for an answer, she reached out, and touched something on the side of my head.

She frowned at my lack of a reaction.

“It really was taken…” she whispered. Then she shrugged, and smiled.

An Oni is honest, and so I immediately mistrusted that smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ibaraki Douji,” she said. “Okina calls me Yukari, so you can call me that, too. I was wondering if I could help in your rehabilitation.”

“…How…”

“I’d like to help you find your arm.”

I still don’t know what compelled me to say it. Perhaps it was just my instincts; to not trust someone with a false name and a false smile.

“…No.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll find it on my own.”

Her other eyebrow raised, and she laughed, cheerfully. “You’re still an Oni, even without your horns!” she declared.

My horns…

* * *

“It’s been a while since the three of us were together.”

It was simply another gathering at the Hakurei Shrine. Once I’d seen these as consequences of Reimu’s lazy attitude towards everything, but as I attended more and more I realised that there was meaning in these gatherings. I even found myself beginning to enjoy them, a little bit more and more each time.

That must be how this had happened.

“To tell the truth, Okina, it’s been a while since I’ve met Kasen outside of a business setting. I think she’s been avoiding me.”

“Oh? I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to avoid _you_ , Yukari.”

“Ah, but there’s so much to catch up on! Okina, what were you up to whilst you were hidden away? Surely you have some interesting stories?”

In spite of myself, I was paying attention closely. I’d also been curious what Okina had been doing -- and what had compelled her to emerge from her seclusion.

“I’ve been travelling. I was looking for new servants, of course, but I was mainly searching for similar places to Gensokyo -- sealed lands of fantasy, unaffected by the changes in the Outside World.”

“Did you find any?” I asked.

Okina shook her head. “If there are any out there, then they’re well-hidden beyond my powers -- which is to say, they don’t exist, of course.”

Of course.

“I’d guessed that when the Scarlet Devil’s Mansion appeared in Gensokyo,” replied Yukari, sipping her sake. “A place of fantasy from the West appearing in Gensokyo can only signify that this is the last refuge of fantasy.”

“It’s possible they were simply rejected for some reason,” I countered. “We don’t get many other Western youkai in Gensokyo, after all.”

Yukari nodded. “It’s possible… we certainly haven’t seen any Western dragons or the like appear. Unless you’re hiding one up in your mountain getaway.”

Regrettably, I had not yet had the opportunity to acquire a Western dragon. But I wasn’t going to let Yukari know that -- but apparently whatever expression I made gave it away.

“I think the West simply has too few remnants of fantasy remaining,” mused Okina. “Much of it was purged when the Great Hakurei Barrier was still being engineered. The fact that the Scarlet Devil and her allies were able to manifest here is a testament to her own abilities, if nothing else.” She was silent for a moment. “I wonder if she’d be open to a job… I’ve never had a vampire as a servant before.”

“Well,” said Yukari, “you’re certainly welcome to try.”

We each took a sip of our sake, before I began to pour out more from the Ibaraki Box.

* * *

As I recovered, I gradually learnt what had happened.

I had been in a battle -- no, a human invasion of Ooeyama, attempting to drive the Oni from the mountain. A successful one, from what Okina and Yukari told me; I was the last Oni that they could find up there, and the only one still alive. All the others had fled to the Underworld.

I had been injured by a purifying sword that had taken my right arm, and with it, sealed a number of my more Oni-like tendencies within that arm. What was left was essentially a hollow shell.

“That doesn’t mean it needs to be the end,” Okina had said, calmly. “An empty shell can always be refilled, as many times as needed. For now, we would like your help.”

They described the situation in Japan to me. As humanity grew more prosperous, youkai grew weaker; they foresaw a time in which youkai would cease to be. To counter this, they would create a self-contained world of fantasy that defied the common sense of the human world, allowing youkai to flourish.

I don’t think I hated the humans, even knowing what they had done. But I wanted to protect the youkai.

I didn’t want to fail again.

\--Who did I fail?

So I agreed to help them build their hidden world. I would use my power over nature to assist in the establishment of the boundary of common sense.

“…But that won’t be for a while. Establishing the Barrier alone will take decades, let alone finding a suitable location and getting other youkai to agree to it. So, until then, what would you like to do?” Okina was giving me an odd look. “It might be a good time to decide what you want to do once the Barrier has been established, too.”

I wondered.

“…I would like to return to the mountain. After that…”

After that, be it months or years or centuries later, I would have to remain within the Barrier. I was no safer from the threat that humans pose than any other youkai. And yet…

To isolate myself, to no end except for my own survival. To return to my nature as a youkai, a threat towards humans and nothing more. Or to head underground, and to the other Oni…

I unconsciously felt the cracked horns on my head. “…I’ll decide what to do once I’ve seen the mountain.”

“There’s nothing there, you know,” said Yukari, giving me an odd, almost knowing look. “It was all destroyed by the humans.”

“I know.” Of course I knew. “But I would like to return there, even so.”

* * *

I stood upon the slopes of Ooeyama, gazing down at the world around me. As Yukari had said, there were no remaining signs of the Oni that had once lived here. Just emptiness.

My arm wasn’t here, either.

I hadn’t been thinking about it originally, but the closer I’d gotten, the more it had been on my mind -- the hope that I’d be able to find the missing piece of myself, and become whole, and regain some kind of a purpose to my existence.

But that purpose, it seems, was not to be found up here.

I gazed up at the sky, and then across the distance at the other mountains that loomed towards the horizon in every direction. If Ooeyama held nothing for me, perhaps another of them would.

I never even glanced at the human city at the base of Ooeyama.

* * *

“I hear you’ve been talking to the outsider, Kasen. Secret meetings, and the like.”

I almost choked on my sake at the mention of ‘secret meetings’. It was far too similar to the tengu’s slander to not be a deliberate implication, but unfortunately -- fortunately? -- Yukari beat me to my own defence.

“I can’t fault her for that, Okina. Gensokyo needs new ideas if it is to ever grow, and I’m sure that Kasen’s been feeling cooped up in here as much as anyone.”

Not the sort of defence I would have chosen, admittedly. But she wasn’t entirely incorrect.

I sometimes wondered why I’d chosen to interact with Sumireko so often. Certainly, it was one of my roles, just as it was Yukari’s, to keep an eye on a potential threat to Gensokyo’s security -- but Reimu was also doing that, as well as an increasing number of other humans and youkai. The chances that she would find herself in any kind of realistic harm was reducing the more regularly she appeared, the more she learned about the rules and systems that governed Gensokyo, and the more that people got used to her presence.

As Yukari mentioned, I could have been curious about the outside -- but we both knew that I could come and go as I pleased, even if Yukari hadn’t identified the exact method. I wondered for a moment whether her comment about being ‘cooped up’ was a slight towards me, a deliberate attempt to obscure the truth for my sake, or something else entirely. With Yukari it was difficult to tell, which was one of the main reasons I disliked interacting with her.

“Is that so… it’s hard to imagine Kasen ever feeling cooped up, since she chose to live up on Youkai Mountain, after all. The way of a hermit is difficult even for a human.”

Even for a human…

Perhaps that was why I liked Sumireko so much.

* * *

I met a hermit for the first time on Omineyama.

I’d been doing it for a few months by that point -- slowly climbing to the top of each mountain, and then slowly climbing back down. The world around me was beautiful, and tranquil, and I enjoyed doing it in a way I couldn’t express -- and yet I wondered, of course, why I was still doing it. I wondered that a lot, back then. I suppose I still do.

Ultimately, it comes down to purpose. A living thing wants to be alive for a reason; in seeking a purpose on those empty slopes, it became my purpose, at least temporarily.

I had travelled north for a while, but as winter turned to spring, I turned south, which led me to the slopes of Omineyama.

I heard her singing to herself, halfway up. A familiar voice I’d never heard before.

I climbed slowly to find a lush outcropping upon the rock, with a small, simple dwelling built into the side of the mountain surrounded by small fruit trees. At the edge of the outcropping, surrounded by pieces of paper held down by small stones, was a human woman, roughly middle-aged, watching me whilst tilting her head from side to side, as if trying to get a closer look.

Then, she said, so softly it was almost lost within the wind,

“The sky clears, and the wind dries the old willow’s hair.”

And I replied, without thinking,

“The frost melts, and the waves--”

And I hesitated.

She frowned at me.

“Oni of Rashoumon,” she asked, “why do you hesitate?”

Why did I hesitate?

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your poetry,” I replied. “It was impolite of me to do so.”

Her frown broke into a smile.

“A poem is meant to be shared,” she said. “All good things in life are. When I’ve finished writing, I’d like to share what I’ve accomplished with someone. Until then, Oni of Rashoumon, you are welcome to write with me.”

That name again.

“You know me.”

“I have met you, certainly.”

“…Where?”

She closed her eyes. “At the Gate of Rashoumon, during a raid of many Oni upon the town of Kyoto. I gazed up and saw you standing tall upon the gate. I spoke to you and you spoke back, and we talked for many hours until the other Oni left. I bid you well, and you said that if we met again, you would take me with you.” She looked around. “I would say that I have been waiting, but if you had taken me up to Ooeyama, I doubt I would have been able to write as I have been.”

\--So not someone who knew me well. And a human, no less.

She seemed to notice my disappointment. “You were expecting more than that?”

“I…” More hesitation. “I’ve lost my memories, and I don’t remember who I am. In truth, I was hoping to find them on Ooeyama, but…”

“Memories are not easily found once lost,” she agreed. “But they are easily gained.” She moved slightly, leaving a little bit more space between her and her pages of writing. “Would you like to tell me about what you do remember? It might help you, and I can turn them into more poetry. Even in the unchanging world, a new experience is always welcome.”

Without hesitation -- but with care -- I sat down next to her.

* * *

Miyako no Yoshika had been on that mountain for many years, keeping herself alive through powerful techniques she learnt from travellers from across the Western Sea. And yet she herself never seemed particularly powerful -- she had a careful energy, quiet, and yet observant. After telling her some of what I remembered since awakening on that mountain -- without going into specifics -- she had sat down and written all night. At some point, I nodded off, and awoke to find myself in a bed inside her house, with her still outside, still writing, still gazing across the bright sky surrounded by dying candles.

She smiled at me as she saw me. “Good morning, Oni of Rashoumon.”

I nodded in response. As far as I could recall, she was the first human to speak to me. Some part of me was alarmed by this; another comforted. I wasn’t sure which was the correct interpretation.

“Is writing all you do?”

“I am a poet,” she replied. “I live in order to write, and when I can write no more, I will live no longer.” She gazed over the landscape below, and her smile faded. “Truth be told, I have already lived longer than I should have. Perhaps… your arrival is an omen.”

“An omen?”

“A story once lost has been found,” she said quietly. “It has made me realise that my story was long since completed. My work is almost done.”

I didn’t really know what to say. Here was a human confiding in me their desire to die, apparently brought on by my arrival. She seemed to notice my discomfort, though, and smiled again.

“Don’t worry, Oni of Rashoumon. I’m just reflecting. I do a lot of that, after all. There isn’t very much else to do up here. Sometimes, I’ll simply rest and think about everything that has happened to me. It’s only now that you’ve arrived that it’s occurred to me that perhaps I’ve already done enough.” As she said, she leant back, her hair falling into the dew-damp, pale mountain grass. “They say to be a hermit is to abide by heaven’s laws, but is living beyond your natural lifespan not in defiance of that law?” She glanced up at me. “You will live forever unless destroyed, Oni of Rashoumon, and that is your nature. I envy you.”

It seemed that all this human could ever do was leave me at a loss for words. So I tried to humour her. “I suppose I’d make a good hermit, then.”

Her eyes never left mine. “I wouldn’t wish that loneliness upon you.”

I suppose I must have disappointed her after all, then.

* * *

I spent less than a week on that mountain, in the company of that strange poet. In hindsight, it would be accurate to say that it probably shaped everything I have done since then, but at the time I was simply trying to understand this baffling human.

Every day and every night she would write; sometimes inside, sometimes outside. Occasionally she would take a break to have something small to eat. I never saw her sleep; as a youkai, I didn’t much need sleep either, yet she still seemed to sleep less than me. She would ask me questions, not about my forgotten past, but odd questions like “how do you like the skies up here?” or “how was the snow on the mountaintops?”. And she would write about those, too, endlessly scribbling away, a record of everything I told her in beautiful lyrical prose.

Then, on the sixth night since I had arrived, a crow flew up and landed in front of me. When I questioned it, it simply replied that “Lady Yakumo” had requested my presence, to assist with the Barrier.

Once more, I hesitated. Part of me -- a lot of me, to be honest -- wanted to remain on that mountain, to learn more about this poet, to have the time to recall who I was. When I explained what was happening to her, her reaction was, as usual, unexpected.

She immediately got up and began collecting all her poetry together -- piles and piles of papers, strung together into massive bundles -- and began to pile them all next to me. When I asked her what she was doing, she replied, “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“I--”

“You have something that you need to do. But I want you to take these.” She gazed out at the world dappled in moonlight. “I am going to finish my poetry. But I want you to take what I have already completed. So, please, Oni of Rashoumon -- these poems are my existence. Take them, and hold them in your thoughts. Even if it is to defy the laws of heaven, even after I die, I want to live on within your heart.”

I definitely didn’t know what to say in response to that. So I gathered up the bundles and began to put them together. Despite their large number, my strength as an Oni was easily sufficient to carry them all -- if the balancing was a bit difficult. After speaking to the crow, though, it mentioned that Yakumo would be providing a “shortcut” over, so I wouldn’t have to worry about carrying them too far, at least.

The last thing that Yoshika did was take two large flowers from one of her fruit trees, and place them in my hair, obscuring my cracked horns. Then, she smiled at me for the last time. “I know that horns are a point of pride for Oni, and it is a shame that your lovely ones were so badly treated. So for now, you can be an Oni of Flowers, instead.”

And then a void opened around me, and I never saw her alive again.

* * *

Why did I become a hermit?

To reflect on one’s life, to adhere to the laws of heaven -- to say I made the decision due to her would be wrong.

She showed me the possibility, certainly. But I could have chosen not to embrace it.

Maybe it was the isolation, after all. Spending time alone to gather myself back together.

Or perhaps--

* * *

“Speaking of the outsider, I’m glad to note that you were able to prevent her causing any serious damage to the Barrier. It’s been taking quite the beating lately.”

Yukari sighed. “I weakened it slightly to allow Yuyuko to gather the spring, and ever since then, it’s been one thing after another. It’s a good thing it's easy to repair, otherwise the Occult Orbs would have been the final straw.”

“You managed to repel the Lunarians, too.”

Yukari scowled at that. “Reimu was tricked into helping them solve some personal dispute, because if she hadn’t, they would have obliterated us. They used us to clean up after their messes by holding a gun to our heads.” She gazed up at the moon, with a bitter expression on her face. “Next time, I wonder if we should try to support that Junko woman instead.”

“You might get the opportunity,” said Okina. “One of the fairies used for the assault on the Lunar Capital’s been wandering around.”

A fairy from Hell? In Gensokyo?

Yukari threw up her hand dismissively. “She’s no help at all. Just another prankster -- good for a fairy, but she doesn’t even seem to know how to get back to Hell, let alone Junko’s whereabouts.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll show up sooner or later.”

There was something I definitely didn’t like about Okina’s smile.

Yukari and Okina, for all their similarities, were very distinct in certain ways. Whatever Yukari claimed, all her actions were for what she believed was the good of Gensokyo. But Okina… she had the perspective of a God, the domain beyond where even the other Sages could reach.

I took another sip of my sake.

“Should we be concerned about the Hell fairy herself?” I asked.

“I wonder…” mused Yukari. “Initially, I’d ask what damage a single fairy could do, but given where she’s decided to reside, she could do quite a lot -- though at the same time, it does make it less likely that she’ll get the chance.”

I must have looked confused, because Yukari continued, “She’s been living under the shrine for about a year now, you know.”

“HUH?!”

Okina was searching the crowd, and then pointed to a small figure floating in one of the trees with a group of other fairies. “That’s her. Clownpiece.”

I carefully observed the strange fairy. She was dressed in an odd outfit, reminiscent of the flag of one of the larger countries of the Outside World, but she didn’t look _hellish_. I’d noticed her around the shrine a few times, certainly, but the Hakurei Shrine received so many unusual visitors that she’d barely stood out.

“You’re sure that _she’s_ the Hell fairy?”

Okina nodded. “Fairly certain. I’m still wondering what to do about her, even if Yukari seems fine with her presence. It seems that there’s something happening in Hell, so she might be the prelude to something worse.” She took a sip of her sake, and smiled cheerfully. “Or maybe not. If Yukari’s okay with it, then I can’t see any reason to worry.”

I wanted to argue, but… Yukari was still the most active of the Sages; maintaining the Barrier, keeping an eye on the Outside World _and_ all the varying factions within Gensokyo. If it hadn’t been for her abilities, she wouldn’t have been able to manage.

Rather, it’s the other way around. Because of her abilities, she’s the only one who could ever be able to do it. I certainly couldn’t -- I was never even asked. Okina potentially could, but I imagine it would strain even her. Yet somehow, Yukari manages to do all of it _and_ still spare time to annoy everyone she meets.

It’s almost remarkable, really.

But if Yukari thinks that Clownpiece wasn’t a threat, then--

“--Wait, her name is _Clownpiece_?”

* * *

“So it’s Yakumo, now?”

“Yakumo Yukari, actually~! I’m keeping the Yukari, and adding the Yakumo.”

“And where has the Yakumo come from?”

She hesitated. “Well, there’s… a poem I once read. I felt that it was as fitting as anything.”

Another lie, then. That was hardly unusual for her.

To tell the truth, I was already somewhat irritated with Yukari. After all, I’d been brought back from the company of the hermit poet expecting some massive revelation, but since then, I’d simply been left waiting in Okina’s home with only Yukari and a few fairies for company. Every time I asked Yukari what was happening she’d refuse to answer; but at least she was answering me about this -- even if she was lying about it.

“And you’re sticking with ‘Yukari’? It’s a bit…” I glanced at her, dressed as ever in a purple dress.

“Unsubtle, perhaps?” she replied. “Unfortunately, before I knew it, everyone was calling me that. I suppose it’s my fault for not coming up with anything sooner, but that’s how it is -- sometimes you can take names for yourself, and sometimes you have to take the names you’re given, even if it means you forget the ones you once had. It’s a consequence of living in a world with other people, after all.” She glanced at me -- no, at the flowers in my hair, placed there so recently. “And what about you? Are you still Ibaraki-Douji? Or should I call you something else?”

“I was only gone a few months.”

“I’ve often found that the world can change in only a day. That’s been true of you once before.”

It only took a day for the Oni to be cast from Ooeyama, after all.

“Well, if you haven’t thought about that, have you thought about your plans after the Barrier is established, then? I’m already communicating with a lot of the major players in Japan, so chances are I should have a temporary Barrier set up within the year.”

Within the _year_? Had things moved so quickly whilst I wasn’t paying attention? My surprise must have shown, because Yukari was smiling again. “Like I said. It only takes a day for the world to change.”

* * *

The other thing I did while I was waiting -- for whatever I was waiting for -- was read Yoshika’s poetry.

Or, I began to. Even the piles she had given me belied their actual scope; it was easy to believe that this was the work of someone who had spent hundreds of years writing without pause. The tiny, delicate writing was filled with everything from stories to recollections to comments about the nature of everything between Heaven and Earth. Occasionally there would be a poem that was unlike the others, filled with metaphors that I struggled to understand. Even as I continued reading, I put those aside, hoping that I would know what they meant some day.

So perhaps it was simply the scope of the task that had been left for me that sealed my fate. To read what Yoshika had given me would take centuries of seclusion; so naturally, I would have to become a hermit, or at least, a creature so similar to one that it would make no difference.

But it was more than that. I chose to abide by the laws of Heaven, and to learn what I did about Taoism and its connection with nature so as to seem as indistinguishable from a true hermit as I could.

And yet it was only my abilities as an Oni that gave me the aptitude for the abilities as a hermit that I would so carefully maintain. A connection with nature brought about through my nature as a youkai.

But I would not be an Oni hermit. I am a hermit, and nothing else--

\--I thought that for a long time. But I never stopped searching for my arm, either.

* * *

“--A troublesome hermit has emerged from underground.”

It’s not that I hadn’t thought about what it meant to be a hermit before then. But it was a different matter when confronted by someone who abided by their own morality -- a highly questionable one, at that -- and still claimed to be a hermit.

After all, to be a hermit was to desire entrance to Heaven; to enter Heaven, one would have to follow the laws of Heaven, the rules set down by the Celestials. The pursuit of immortality itself, although it had occurred to me, had never seemed to me to be an end in and of itself, and yet, it would seem that the sole purpose of that wicked hermit in prolonging her existence was solely to avoid her own death.

Was it possible to still be a hermit and defy Heaven?

Well, clearly, it was the case. Regardless of whether or not it was _right_ , Kaku Seiga was proof that a hermit does not necessarily have to be good to be a hermit.

If the possibility of a wicked hermit exists, then an Oni pretending to be a hermit must be wicked, regardless of what one can do to deny their own nature. Perhaps it is that denial itself that inspires wickedness?

An Oni despises liars. A false hermit must be despised, then.

\--Not as much as I despise her, though.

* * *

When all the Sages were together, Yukari outlined her plans for what she called the “Youkai Expansion Project”; creating a society in a small settlement called Gensokyo, sealing it from the human world whilst attracting youkai to it, allowing it to prosper off the development of the human world until it began to degrade and seek comfort and knowledge in magic and youkai once more.

It was complicated, and would require an immense amount of work, most of all from Yukari herself. For someone who seemed so persistently troublesome, it almost took me by surprise how committed she was to this plan -- but as she cheerfully explained, it was all in the interests of her own self-preservation. Once Gensokyo was established, its existence would rely upon her existence, and vice-versa; thus, she could maintain her own existence and have control over the entire youkai population through preventing its destruction.

It took another few months to get the preparations ready, but as soon as I was free to leave, I headed back towards Omineyama.

I never found her. I know now that a hermit’s senkai exists within a sort of pocket dimension, so perhaps the first time, having recognised me from far away, she let me in. Whether out of curiosity or something else, I could now never know. Miyako no Yoshika was forever out of my reach, it seemed; perhaps, she had already passed on, as she had promised to do so.

So I returned to Gensokyo, with her poetry. I built a house upon the mountain, and read. As I read more, I learnt more -- woven into the poetry amongst everything else was an impressive knowledge of the Taoist arts, everything that Yoshika had ever learnt about them -- and was able to more truly live as a hermit. And for centuries, I would either be within my own senkai, my own hidden world, reading; working upon the Barrier, ensuring the survival of the youkai, or out in the world, searching for my arm, until that option was no longer available without great effort.

* * *

And one day, wandering around Gensokyo, I heard poetry that I had only ever read.

It was shortly after the Taoists, led by Toyosatomimi no Miko, emerged from underground. I had had an idea of going to visit them -- rather, I felt that I had an obligation to meet these new hermits, for even within Gensokyo there were very few true hermits remaining. Although most hermits would usually construct a senkai for themselves, their recent arrival meant that the Taoists were still operating out of the hidden crypt below the Myouren Temple, so it seemed the most auspicious time to meet them.

She was standing amongst the tombstones, wandering aimlessly, whispering to herself and the wind. I almost disregarded the figure -- I had heard rumours of “the zombie in the Cemetery”, and had intended to avoid her if I could -- but.

How could I?

She seemed younger than she had been. Reimu had described her using some form of regeneration magic, so possibly it was a side-effect of that. Her voice was the same, but it lacked the same… It was lacking in spirit.

I stood in the field for a long while, and she wandered aimlessly, ignoring me, until she suddenly stopped.

That empty, clear, focused gaze met mine.

A whisper, so soft it was almost lost within the wind,

“The sky clears, and the wind dries the old willow’s hair.”

And I replied, turning away,

“The frost melts, and the waves wash the old moss’ hair.”

When I looked back, she was already wandering away, whispering to herself.

I turned away from that place of dead things, and returned home in silence.

* * *

I wanted to confront Seiga about it, but what would have been the point, beyond my own self-satisfaction? A wicked being will behave however she wants. I had simply told myself that she was already gone by the time that--

Well, that was undoubtedly true. From what Seiga had been saying, she had only created the jiang-shi in order to protect Miko’s tomb in preparation for her resurrection. It was unlikely, knowing what I know of the wicked hermit, that she would have kept her around for the hundreds of years it would necessarily have had to have been. It was nothing but a horrible, sickening coincidence -- the cruelest possible twist of fate.

And yet part of me still begged the question. If a hermit could do this, then was there meaning to being one? Was it not better to be true to oneself, rather than call oneself the same thing as Kaku Seiga?

* * *

Recently, I had located my arm.

It was hidden away in an unused shrine, deep in the woods, and yet it had still managed to lure people to it, consuming them, body and soul, in an attempt to revive itself. I had brought it with me to Gensokyo, and placed it within the Hakurei Shrine, hoping that its powerful presence could seal it. Whilst its power was seemingly dampened, it was by no means under control. It would have to be sealed. I put a plan in place, and waited for an opportunity.

It was hard to resist it. Within that arm contained everything that I had lost; malice, and power. It whispered to me of forgotten glories, of things long-since lost. But I was a hermit, not an Oni. I resisted it, and continued to visit the Shrine as normal, training the Hakurei Maiden when I could, assisting her when necessary, and interfering with her schemes when that, too, was necessary.

The night after that visit to the Cemetery was the hardest. Every part of me screamed to abandon the plan, to enter the Shrine and become whole; not for my own sake -- not for my own sake? -- to undo what had been done -- to right a wrong -- to do justice, in the name of Heaven’s laws.

In order to save her--

I resisted it. Ever so barely, I resisted it, and when I awoke the next morning, I was still a hermit.

* * *

In order to seal my arm, I would require the aid of the Hakurei Shrine Maiden. I would not be capable of doing it myself; rather, to do so myself would subsequently destroy both myself and the arm. In spite of how long we had been separated, we were still bound.

No, that would naturally be the case. The seal upon my malice and my memories was upon both my own spirit and the arm’s. One could not exist without the other.

So I descended from the mountain to see what had become of the Shrine Maiden I had visited so infrequently so many years ago.

\--I was disappointed, to say the least. She was slovenly, consumed by greed and boredom, and barely knowledgeable about the gods she supposedly served outside of her obligatory duties. She was perfectly capable during an incident, but lacked passion outside of them, jumping from project to project to keep herself engaged. In spite of my training, my lectures, my warnings, she continued to be so, so--

\--Human.

It took me many months to realise how foolish it was to judge a human by my own standards. The laws of Heaven -- no, the way of being a hermit, was a lonely one, self-imposed. Reimu was surrounded by people who loved her, and loved to explore the excitement in the world even if it meant the neglect of the less interesting. Perhaps she was the perfect human for the role, if a human was needed to once again seal me.

Even so, it almost went wrong. It took the help of an unreliable Celestial and a perpetually-slacking Shinigami to ensure my defeat. But I was successful. The arm was sealed, its power vanished, its whispers faded from my mind.

For an all-too brief moment, I remembered everything about who I was. But now, I only have fragments -- the memories of memories. Once again, I am no longer Ibaraki-Douji.

That is for the best.

* * *

“Yo, Sages!”

The cry interrupted my thoughts, and the conversation about fairies that Okina and Yukari were cheerfully having without me. The three of us looked across the crowd gathered outside the Hakurei Shrine to see a pair of mismatched figures emerging. One was short, not even five feet tall, but with a pair of long, curling horns emerging from either side of her head; the other was far taller, possibly even seven feet tall, with a single red horn emerging from her forehead.

I got up to leave, but Yukari grabbed my arm. “It’s rude to refuse old friends, you know. Especially ones as old as this.”

The pair of Oni stood in front of the three of us, looking us over. After a moment, the taller one -- Yuugi -- asked if they could “borrow” me for a moment, and Yukari gleefully swung me around with strength you wouldn’t expect from her small frame, flinging me forwards at the smaller of the two.

Suika caught me almost effortlessly and grinned. “We’ll return her shortly, no worries!” Then, before I could say anything, I was already being carried out of the party by the rambunctious Oni, who only stopped once they were a way into the woods that surrounded the shrine.

I was unceremoniously dropped onto the ground. “What was that for?!” I protested, dusting myself off.

Suika stared at me with that sharp, intelligent look that she always had when she got serious. “I figured you wouldn’t answer our questions if you had other people around -- even if it was those two. ‘Sides, you didn’t seem to be enjoying yourself much in that company.”

Admittedly, between the Sages and the Shittenou, I probably would prefer the company of the latter.

“We heard you found your arm,” Yuugi said encouragingly. “But…”

Ah. Of course.

“It’s--” I started.

“You’re a hermit now, right?” interrupted Suika. “So you wouldn’t need that arm anymore.”

There was an old saying on Ooeyama -- if you could see through Suika, she could see through you. The smaller Oni grinned up at me.

“Of course,” I replied. “That arm had all my malice sealed within it, and it had been gathering more for over a thousand years. I--”

“Relax, Ibaraki.” Yuugi sat down next to me. “It’s your arm, you do with it what you want. We just wanted to be sure.”

“I doubt that’s all.”

Yuugi grinned broadly. “I mean, if it’d turned out you’d had it hidden under those bandages of yours, I wouldn’t have said no to a fight.”

“I think I’d still give you a run for your money as I am now, Yuugi.”

The two others were silent for a moment, then began roaring with laughter.

“I’ve missed you, Ibaraki!” said Suika cheerfully. “It was so disappointing how you kept trying to avoid me, y’know!”

“It’s Kasen now,” I corrected. “Ibaraki Kasen.”

“There’s still an Ibaraki in that name, though,” Yuugi pointed out.

It wasn’t that I disliked the other Shittenou. I just didn’t know if I could still talk to them the way I once had, before my memories begin.

* * *

I remember now. Fleeing from Ooeyama, clutching the bloody stump of my arm, running in terror. I felt the shame of being a coward, but all I could think was to run, to get away -- to save myself, in spite of those I cared about.

I remember seeing Suika’s head sliced from her body. I remember seeing Yuugi ran through by a dozen swords and brought low. I remember the inhuman scream I heard when my arm was severed and I felt a part of my _soul_ ripped out, and I remember realising that it was my own voice.

I remember the terror of feeling alone. I remember collapsing on the side of a mountain, looking up at the stars, shining behind the veil of smoke, wondering if I would be found and destroyed like the others, or if it was my fate to fade away to nothing, forgotten by the world.

* * *

When Suika returned to the surface, I had forgotten her face. I had almost forgotten her name, but when I heard it for the first time, my mind screamed at me to flee, and so I did. Without even realising, I was hiding from the other Oni, out of a fear I couldn’t understand.

But even knowing that she was around began to make me remember; fragments of memories, but enough. I wondered if it would be so bad to meet up with her. I almost wanted to -- but I refused. It took her cornering me to finally get me to open up, and as we sat together on the day of the Tori-no-Ichi, she said something as she left--

“I don’t blame you.”

And perhaps it was then that I realised that I blamed myself, on a level deeper than my memory.

I was the only survivor, after all. My existence is a testimony to my failure.

I don’t know how she survived. It’s enough to me that she still remembers who I am--

So I won’t ask.

* * *

I sighed. “It’ll be suspicious if you go around abducting me. Reimu knows about it, but no-one else does, and I’m trying to keep it a secret.”

Suika grinned. “Don’t worry about that. After this, we’re gonna abduct a bunch of other hermits to keep ‘em on their toes!”

“It’ll be a real hermit hunt!” declared Yuugi cheerfully. “I hear that some of them are really powerful too, so it should be a lot of fun!”

I was tempted to join them, in spite of everything. Wouldn’t it be simpler to be an Oni?

Instead I said, “Just make sure not to pick any fights you can’t win. And-- if you take on the blue-haired hermit with the needle in her hair, mind giving her a bit of a harder time?”

Yuugi laughed again. “Aren’t you meant to not hold grudges, or something like that?”

I shrugged, as I got up and began to walk back towards the party. “I’ve been spending too much time around Reimu, perhaps.”

“There’s worse influences than that Shrine Maiden, y’know,” said Suika.

I smiled to myself at that one. “I don’t think there are any better, in the whole of Gensokyo.”

* * *

I ceased to be an Oni the moment I fled Ooeyama.

So why did I want my arm? For the sake of past glory? Power? My old memories?

For the sake of keeping it sealed, ensuring it could do no harm?

It is a reminder of what I cannot be; a reminder of the death that does not await me; a fate that will never be.

It was long after I left Ooeyama that I became a hermit. Perhaps longer than I had thought; perhaps I only recently managed to attain that goal.

Then, the arm is a reminder of who I am now. The sealed arm, its whispers silenced forever, in defiance of the lies I tell myself, the memories I do not possess, the malice I do not bear.

* * *

\--A hermit recalls everything, from the day they were born.

I was born upon the side of a mountain, rescued by a God, and roped into a project to save the youkai from extinction.

I was born upon the side of a mountain, listening to an odd poet who had lived for centuries and wanted to die.

I was born upon the side of a mountain, living in solitude, reading and learning from the poems that had been left behind for my sake.

I was born at the base of a mountain, talking to a young woman and learning as much from her as I meant to teach.

I was born in the depths of Hell, when I felt myself become whole; and born once more, when I was carved in half by perhaps the only person I could trust to do so.

And I wonder to myself.

I am not an Oni. An Oni abhors liars, and I know that I have lied to myself, and to others, many times.

I am not a hermit. A hermit adheres to the laws of Heaven, and an Oni cannot do that. I will never see Heaven, nor do I want to.

Then perhaps I am--

I reach for the buns in my hair, feeling the chipped horns underneath.

A hermit of flowers, perhaps. A transient, eternal ideal.

\--Ibarakasen.

**Author's Note:**

> There isn't really much to say here beyond "I've got a lot of thoughts about Kasen". It's another vaguely confusing, self-indulgent character study. As before, I hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think!
> 
> ...This one could probably have been for General Audiences, but it does have some Stuff in it. Better safe than sorry.


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